Cast in Stone
by Andsowego
Summary: Sunday, it seemed to him, had always been a day reserved for monumental events. GSR complete.


**Cast in Stone **

**Disclaimer**: These CSI characters are owned by CBS. I am making no money from their use. If I were, I wouldn't have a giant student-loan debt and be driving an ancient volkswagen.

**Category**: thoughtful fluff (if there is such a thing!)

**Rating**: PG

**Words**: 1650

**Spoilers**: anything GSR related

**a/n**: This is my submission for the Livejournal Geekfiction "I-Love-the-80's" Ficathon. I thought I'd post if here at as well. The prompt was "80's Music". I hope that someone out there actually _gets_ the music reference throughout!

Peace, Andsowego

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**Cast in Stone **

Sunday, it seemed to him, had always been a day reserved for monumental events. Confession and Mass, always on Sundays. His father had died on a Sunday. College graduation was on a Sunday afternoon. Sara had kissed him on a Sunday morning. And now this.

The burial.

In the early hours of their only morning off together, he'd awoken to an empty bed, and a strange, uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had quickly pulled on some sweatpants and a tee shirt, and proceeded to investigate. After calmly searching the townhouse in the early morning shadows, he'd found her in the backyard, her soft silhouette outlined by the lingering moonlight. It was chilly, and had obviously been raining. The grass was soaked through, and it made a small squishing sound between his bare toes as he cautiously approached her.

"Sara?"

The shovel stilled.

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

"I don't want to talk about it yet Gil. I just need to dig."

Grissom was certain that he could see what looked suspiciously like dried tears on her cheeks, but he knew better than to pry for too much, too quickly. She had obviously woken up a lot earlier than him, and had made quick work of the lawn in their backyard. He wondered if the neighbours had heard her as she feverishly upturned grass and roots, rocks and soil with the shovel.

Sitting himself down on the damp edge of the brick steps, he allowed himself to watch as she worked. The digging was meticulous; approached with the same delicate determination that she applied to her work at the lab. _No stone left unturned_. In this case, literally. She was still in her pyjamas, but at least she'd thrown on some running shoes for support and a sweatshirt for extra warmth. Not that she needed it, what with all the energy that went into the digging, but at least it showed him that she had thought this through to some degree.

The hole was purposeful. About two feet deep, as far as he could approximate in the remnants of night. She had separated the stones from the soil, sorting them into piles according to their size, as if they were meant to be processed. Little ones here, big ones there, interesting ones lined up for further examination. _Force of habit_, he thought, _and so very Sara_. If he thought it impossible to love her even more, he would have been mistaken.

"It rained earlier" Sara stated casually, as if it needed to be explained.

"I see that dear" he answered, waiting for her to continue.

"The digging was... _is_ easier because of the saturated soil" she added as she continued to assault the wet ground with the blade of the shovel.

"I figured. How long have you been at this?"

"Uh, I don't know really. Since I woke up I guess. An hour maybe? My mind was racing, and I couldn't really stay in bed any longer. I needed to do something, and it turned out that this was the something I needed to do."

"Why didn't you wake me?" he ventured cautiously, "I could have helped. Your arm is still fragile."

Allowing the shovel to hang suspended for a moment, Sara half-turned her gaze toward him over her shoulder.

As she reached up and wiped a strand of hair from her now dirt-speckled forehead, she spoke quietly, "I needed to do it alone. For me. So there would be no doubt that it was done properly. My arm can handle the shovelling. It's not like I'm using a sledgehammer Griss." She sighed, staring at the deepening hole at her feet. "It's almost ready. Just a few more inches, and I can put my mind to rest."

And again, she was back to the digging.

As Sara continued her quest for creating the perfect hole, Grissom pulled his bare feet up off the slick grass and shifted on the step in an effort to get warm. The familiar smell of new rain and wet soil filled his nostrils. Scents of the garden always brought him a sort of comfort, even now as an adult. The aroma reminded him of his childhood; hours spent with his father amongst the plants and flowers, in the rain and the sun... mowing, weeding, planting and digging. With _that_ shovel. It had been a gift from his mother to his father on their first wedding anniversary, complete with a little bronze plaque just below the handle.

_For your love, my love_.

"Griss?" Sara's voice broke his reverie, as she lowered the shovel tip to the ground. "It's ready... I'm ready."

"Okay, so, what happens next?"

"We bury them... together" she stated. _As if it needed stating_.

Sara glanced at his wet feet, as he approached her on the lawn. "It's cold out here Griss. I'll be back in a sec."

And with that, she handed him the shovel, heading for the house.

Shovel in hand, Grissom took a deep breath and stared at the hole. This would certainly be interesting, but he wasn't entirely sure how they were going to approach it. It's not like this was the first time he'd been at some sort of burial site, but it was, admittedly, the first time he'd be helping to fill in the hole afterward with his father's shovel. He was a bit relieved that Sara seemed to have it all under control, and he figured he'd just have to take his cue from her. This was definitely her show, and he was prepared to help her with whatever came next.

"Here. I grabbed your shoes while I was in there" she said, handing him his sneakers with a half-smile.

"Thank-you dear" he replied, as he sat back down on the step to slide his feet in and await instructions.

"Okay Griss, I know that this is all a little weird, and I _know_ that you probably have a million questions in your head, but I really just want to get it over with at this point, alright?"

"Look, Sara... you don't need to explain this to me. Believe it or not, I _get_ it. I think it will bring some much needed closure. Plus, we needed to tear this crummy lawn out anyway. We can order some fresh sod this week to fill in the spot, okay?"

"Okay babe," she said with a newly relaxed confidence in her voice, "here they are."

She held out the objects in question. Her casts. He had driven her to the doctor the day before last, where the final one had been removed successfully. The first cast had been a full-arm type; long, constricting, and moulded at a right angle to conform to the shape of her elbow. It had been on for two weeks, only to be removed and then replaced by a second, shorter, lighter cast that remained for a while longer to immobilise her wrist. Now, she was offering them both up for burial. The last step in the search for closure. A testimony of sorts to her survival. _Their survival_.

"Do you want to say a few words honey?" he queried.

"Well... I guess a little something might be appropriate... it's really only the first cast that's significant" she said as she unceremoniously tossed the second, shorter one in the hole, followed by a few large stones and a quick kick of some soil. "Everyone signed the big cast at the hospital the day after I was pulled out of the desert. How about I just read out what they all wrote, and then we'll throw it in and bury it?"

"Sounds good to me. Short and sweet."

"Hmm..." Sara began, pointing at the cast, "well, here's Warrick's name... he wrote _glad to have you back girl_, followed by a happy face. Not a great drawing, but still cute." She smiled. "And, here's where Greg put his name, and wrote _if the Bugman ever gives you up, I'll still be waiting_... not likely, but, well, you know... it is Greg after all" she said with a slight giggle. "Catherine's signature is a little smaller and harder to read, but I'm fairly sure it says _two sharp women are better than one... get well soon Sara_. Everyone else pretty much just signed their name... David and the Doc, Hodges, Mandy, Brass. Oh, and Nick signed here under the elbow... _I'm so thankful it wasn't_…"Sara's voice trailed off momentarily as she realised the weight of the sentiment Nick had written.

"_I'm so thankful it wasn't your time_..."

As Grissom stepped in to slip a supportive arm around her waist, she continued, "I'm so thankful that it wasn't my time too, Nicky."

Taking a deep, steadying breath and leaning into Grissom a little closer, Sara paused to examine the final signature on the underside of the cast.

"It's yours," she whispered, "you left a quote."

"_For your love, my love. Gil_."

A moment of silence was shared, as Sara's eyes brimmed with tears in the early morning light. Grissom waited for her to proceed to the next step, feeling her steady breathing against his side. At last, she leaned forward slightly and tossed the cast into its final resting place.

Grissom knew that this was what she wanted, what she truly needed. In a way, it was what they both needed. Still holding on to her, he extended his free hand to offer the shovel, but she refused, and instead brought her hand to his face, lightly caressing his cheek with her thumb.

"Dirt from the shovel?" he asked.

"No," she replied softly, "only you."

"Oh."

"I don't want to do this alone Griss. We can share it" she said, leaning down to grasp the handle on either side of his hands as the little bronze plaque glinted in the rising sunlight.

**-end-**

**Thank-you for reading. All comments will be received with sincere appreciation. **

**Peace, Andsowego**


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